


A Tale of Enmity Conquered

by Susamo



Series: A Knight of Arkon in 1149 [2]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Atlan Adventure in time, F/M, The Knight of Arkon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26645176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Atlan da Gonozal in his role as a noble knight and minstrel from Toulouse visits the feast in his honour at the Castle of Abergavenny. After that he must ride away to the North, but he still hopes that the beautiful Alexandra of Lancaster, whom he loves, will decide to go with him and leave her father. She is still deliberating when she learns that her beloved knight will be ambushed and that his enemy, lord Surrey of Mowbray, is lying in wait to kill him...
Relationships: Atlan da Gonozal/Alexandra of Lancaster
Series: A Knight of Arkon in 1149 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938052
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	A Tale of Enmity Conquered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Palatinedreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palatinedreams/gifts).



> This part of the tale is still closely following Hanns Kneifel's book, though it will be the last one to do so. The feast in hall is very different from what Mr. Kneifel tells of, while the escape-and-fight -scene is partly translated from the book, though there are significant changes and embellishments too. The same goes for the last part.   
> After that Hanns Kneifel lets our three heroes ride more or less uneventfully to the North, while the Atlan we read of here will have very different experiences and adventures. 
> 
> Alexandra's, and her father's ancestry also is different from what Kneifel describes. I have done my best to anchor his characters in real history of 1149, and turn them into real people as well as it was possible. 
> 
> Note: all Arkonides have white hair and red eyes. They are the inhabitants of the Star System of Arkon, the center of an Empire containing about fifty thousand planets and outpost upon moons or star stations. Atlan is immortal because he wears the gift of IT, an all-powerful energetic being, his cellular activator which keeps him young and makes any wound heal swiftly. In this story, to avoid the ceaseless danger for the activator to be stolen, the Arkonide wears the small egg-like gadget implanted beneath the left shoulder instead of carrying it on its chain around his neck. He has a so-called logic sector, also named the extra brain, a kind of internal telepathic adviser always heeding logic and reminding his mental partner of dangers. This logic sector was activated after Atlan had passed the tests of the ARK SUMMIA at his home the Great Star Empire of Arkon, and the activation of a photographic memory was also included. Upon Earth, the Arkonides had built a base at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, the Dome, where Atlan has passed most of the long time of his lonely exile among barbarians asleep. But from time to time he wakens, for example, when danger is threatening Earth or an alien ship is landing. Then his faithful robot Rico will call him up and equip him with everything he needs for the time and place he will go to, including robotic animals like a falcon or a wolf, or a robot in the shape of a horse which can carry him through the air at need. The gadgets he carries else might include a hypno beamer, or a beamer gun that could burn down a whole village, or a skorge tar which might render him invisible to human eyes. But he must be very careful to use such things and refrain from using them all together but in the direst of need because his little barbarians might become afraid of him and might attack him, believing him to be a devil or a demon. Or, as they did in the olden times, they might think him a Faye, a knight from Faery...

A Tale of Enmity Conquered

Very proudly Gromell the fletcher presented the trophy he had won, first prize of the bowmen, and dared to look his master up and down as the knight quietly put off his belt and the surcoat, and sat down to remove the boots. The bath was ready and steaming, and Atlan was really looking forward to it now. The mantle, oddly stained and looking very used, had been laid over a chair, which the squire knew would be his charge later to clean.

“I had hoped to see you happier than that, Sir Knight, and less pensive”, he ventured at last as the red-eyed knight had sunken into the hot water with a sigh and he began to rub his master’s back with the soap he had newly been introduced to. 

The Arkonide smiled shortly. “Happy and very well content I am”, he responded, “on the one side. But upon the other the more I am apprehensive now. I hope for Alexandra of Lancaster to choose me instead of her father, and ride with us. But she could not decide immediately but had to think about the matter still-which shows her good and trustworthy character. That loyalty and honour is just not too convenient for me, this time.”

The squire snorted. “I see”, he murmured. “Bedazzlement seems to have worked both ways.”

Atlan laughed a little and softly said:” So true. I admit that I would be extremely disappointed if the queen of love and beauty would decide against me and stay with her father.”

Wordlessly Gromell worked on, rubbing down his master and pouring hot water over him.

“Let me venture a guess, Atlan”, he said at long last, handing the Arkonide the towel and helping him to step out of the tub. “Given that you would have my comment at all-and let it be the one of a friend you would take as a friend’s, and neither the one of a knave or a villein.”

Atlan sighed, gauging well what that guess of Gromell’s would be about. The young man was shrewd and truly knowledgeable about what was going on in his world of England.

“I said that I will count you as my friend, from the start”, he replied, “and that won’t change. Comment on, then-as a friend.”

The dark blonde man cleared his throat. “About the lady. Lady Alexandra. You have met her today?” 

“Yes.” The Arkonide rubbed his hair to dry it and watched Gromell putting out a fresh shirt for him, which had hung in front of the fire and now would be pleasantly warm.

“And you’ve-spent time with her? I thought she was accompanied by her father’s groom and her maid?”

The way he put the question showed that the squire was on the right track about how that time spent had been used. Interesting also was the fact that he already knew that his master had been with the young lady and ridden out with her. Many would have noticed, then, and learned of that fact; so would Surrey of Mowbray. What would come of that? Would Poins of Lancaster react as well in some way?

“She was. Originally.”

“Ah. “Now Gromell suddenly grinned. “Originally. So, you found a way to pry the groom and the maid away from their mistress for a suitable stretch of that time-I guess.” 

“You guess right.” Atlan slipped on the shirt and fresh trews and pulled on the tight hose. The soft and shorter cotte went over that and was circled by the belt. Neither surcoat nor crestcoat or mantle were necessary now while they would have their evening meal. Warm socks against the cold floor and soft low shoes followed. 

“Did the matter go as far-as I guess?”

There was a tiny pause, then the Arkonide answered calmly and evenly. “Yes-by design, contrivance and no little effort employed by me. We took a stroll through the woods to a place I had prepared for a stay, an outdoor meal and some music I could play to the lady and her maid.”

The squire cleared his throat again. Against that open confession little could be said. 

“That was the catch-I wondered about. The state of your thick mantle, Sir Knight, suggested-something to me. I’ll wash it this evening.”

Suddenly Atlan laughed. The tension left him and let merriment come back.

“So my mantle was the traitor who gave me away. I wondered how it could have been so obvious, even to you.”

“On the one side, dust, stains of crushed grass, and the like. On the other, a few crumbs sticking to spots smelling of sausage and drops spilled of that sherbet, smelling strongly of outlandish spices”, the extra brain listed the betraying facts, somewhat amused. “And somewhere in between, a big stain of blood. The like one finds upon sheets after wedding nights.”

Oh. Yes, of course.

“It was-obvious. I just wondered how you could have contrived to get rid of the maid, Atlan.”

“She fell asleep.”

“By your contrivance also?” By now both men were grinning at each other.

“Yes, or the whole effort would not have been worth at least the hope of getting where we got together. Before you ask, I used a certain kind of spice from the Saracen lands. The woman is perfectly unharmed and has not taken any sickening from sleeping a little out in the woods, on a warm spring day.”

Gromell nodded sagely. “The advantage a physician has, knowing herbs and medicines, sometimes is enormous. It is just not common to have a knight so knowledgeable. Or so able to-employ those means.”

“Before you go on guessing and suggesting matters, Gromell, let me say it plainly: a man who wanted to accuse me before a court of justice could call me guilty of the crimen abductionis et corruptionis virginis, and of the crimen veneficii, that’s abduction and seduction of a virgin, and the crime of poisoning, and yes, I am aware that the last one does not only mean the preparing and mixing of poisons but also calls people who do that sorcerers. I’ve had people call me that only for the colour of my eyes and my hair at my age, who neither knew that I could heal or use herbs in a different way also. So before we talk on, Gromell, I have a question to ask of you, and a choice to give: under these circumstances, do you wish to go on serving and accompanying me, or do you wish to return to your family? I would not hold a negative decision against you.”

The young man’s face froze for a moment, then he simply shook his head and went to one knee before the knight he served. 

“Atlan, Sir Knight de l’Arcon, you have saved my life, and I owe you for this till I die. As well you have called me a friend, and have not done any harm by that poison you used-and the harm you did was, as I believe, consented and agreed to by the said virgin, or the mantle would have shown signs of a struggle, while the kind of struggle it suggested was a different one. That you look odd I also knew from the start, and that you know the arts of healing you have proven a hundred times these last days. I have seen you work to exhaustion several days long to save hundreds of lives. That cannot be called evil mixing of poisons, can it, though the action was quite the same! And as for you having outlandish and uncommon things or doing them-that I know too with that horseless cart which held so much of your luggage, and other things you use. Either you have been extremely far away from England or France where the oddest things are common, or you are a magician in truth. But well, and if you are-doesn’t the bible say that “at their fruits ye shall know them”? That much I remember from the sermons of our parish priest on Sundays. And the fruits I have seen you bring, so to say, are the best ones I can think of. No, my lord, Sir Knight. I do not see any evil in you but perhaps cleverness any man would have used who could. And whether there is evil is the only point that counts in my eyes. Whether you are a magician or not-about that I reserve judgment. Only the devil can have things as you have them, that is true-but I believe that you would rather hunt the devil round the church before he can seduce you to anything. If you have powers, then you seem to use them only for the benefit of men. How these matters can match I do not know, but I am no church man who must solve such questions, and I don’t care either. So if you let me stay on with you to be your squire, Sir Atlan of Arcon, I will be very glad and continue serving you in that capacity, and any else I can contrive of.”

The Arkonide exhaled in relief. 

“Then I am glad of you also, Gromell. I would have regretted losing your friendship and service very much indeed.”

The young man stood, and the two embraced shortly, but hard. Gromell was pale, but his eyes were shining. He had consciously committed himself to a man he thought to be a magician, it seemed, and still he had done so, proving how true and trustworthy he was.

What would Alexandra of Lancaster do?

The morning was damp after an early gush of rain and heat setting in as early. The fair was going on, with the commoners and burghers to be in attendance later while the morning belonged to the nobles and the knights, walking stately with their ladies before the feast and the banquet up in the castle called them to leave. The jeweler did better trade today with a few knights opening their purses, though these were parsimonious still. The civil war that king Stephen had won at last had left its legacy, and nests of embers which were smoldering still.   
And there was a great fire just ready to be lighted again. Henry FitzEmpress had just turned sixteen, but he was an energetic and strapping young lad, shaping up very well and becoming a true threat and opponent to the king, fighting for the cause of his mother which was turning into his own quite swiftly.  
The talk went that Henry was out to form a northern alliance with David the King of the Scots, who in fact was his great-uncle, and Ranulf of Chester, whose allegiance had shifted several times and was prone to shift again. First he would have to forge an agreement between his presumptive allies, who were bitter enemies since David had invaded England several times and, though he had been stopped by king Stephen, had by the treaties closed won lands he held since, and most of those had belonged to Ranulf. David king of Scots was kin to Henry since Henry’s grandmother Matilda had been the daughter of Malcolm the third King of Scots. There was hope that at least he would stand by kin; on the other hand, this kinship would stand in the way for other alliances.

Atlan had had Gromell pack and make ready and had left him to strike a camp not far from the castle to the north, an ideal place to start off from the following morning on their journey to the north. Whether they would be two or three still was not clear or sure; but he would meet Alexandra and her father at the feast in hall of Abergavenny castle.  
Riding up the castle hill he felt the damp heat of the day the more, complete with a smell of something foul rotting away somewhere in the bushes. Men had been hurt severely during the tournament; some of them would be a long time recovering, a few might even die of their wounds or be maimed for life. Some of them might have received such wounds from him when he could no longer watch perfectly where which stroke landed how, in the melee. Some of them-

“Some of them might think on revenge, yes”, the logic sector confirmed the bad premonitions the Arkonide suddenly had. “Not against a fellow knight of the region, whom one meets peacefully before and after, but against a stranger one might envy for his fighting and the lady he went riding with for half the day yesterday, or whom one feels offended by because one was defeated by him while he had his will. Surrey of Mowbray has been suspiciously absent these days after the tournament-and that cannot be owed to his injuries only!”

Dammit to the gods, all true enough. Atlan had laughed at Surrey of Mowbray’s enmity before, and had said that he liked to have an enemy he knew at least. But he had not known de Mowbray well enough. He was young enough to heal quickly, twenty-eight years of age, and had been proclaimed as Surrey Hamon d’Aubigny, the son of Nigel d’Aubigny lord de Mowbray, and the brother of Roger de Mowbray, who was his senior by a year, at the tournament. That younger son of a rich house had been furnished well with lands hereabouts, some of them ceded to him by his mother, Gundreda de Gournay. The man had influence and rich following enough if he so willed it, and already had proved that a man of his rank and standing could not permit himself to have been bested by a landless knight, a wanderer on errantry whose overlord and protector, the Count of Toulouse, was far away and had no influence here in England.

“And he might be able to ride again, today”, the extra brain commented. “As to Alexandra, she is not purely a Saxon lady, as you have heard also, since. Poins of Lancaster is Roger de Poitevin’s son, by his second wife Alfreda, who was Saxon. Due to his rebellion against Henry the first that Roger lost his lands in England and was thrown back to Poitou where his first wife’s domains were, and his main fief of land, the so-called Honour of Lancaster, was lost with it. King Henry gave these estates to Stephen of Blois, who became King Stephen subsequently. 

So to Poins Alfric de Lancaster nothing of his father’s inheritance was left but the name, and a half-Norman ancestry that might make him better acceptable to Norman lords than a purely Saxon lord would, who would perhaps not have kept his lands either with Norman occupation. That he is not of the party of king Stephen with that history between them makes sense as well, and his impoverishment the more. Especially a man like him would not have been granted any alleviation on the taxes and levies the king raised to finance his war with the empress Maude, who is Henry the first’s only legitimate heir after the death of her brother William when La Blanche Nef sank.”

To Poins of Lancaster’s luck his wife, one Meredith of Herforth, had not only been Saxon from her father, a baron in the fiefdom of the earl of Hereford, but also Welsh from her mother of the family of Carraig, who inherited the castle she brought to her husband, and which subsequently was renamed Lancaster castle. So, he was not left landless and destitute-not entirely, not even after that terrible civil war between Mathilda and Stephen.

“Roger de Mowbray, in his turn, always was loyal to Stephen and was taken prisoner with him at the battle of Lincoln. So must his brother Surrey have had his allegiances-but in spite of Lancaster and Mowbray on different sides, the old baron is of much lesser means as the young one is and would have to be obliging to him. Obviously, Surrey has cast an eye or two at the beautiful Alexandra, though it would be clear that he would not marry her, with her having so little of prospects. Perhaps, meeting you, she saw you as a gift of god indeed, as she said. Surrey was noticeably wroth at you paying court to her, additionally perhaps to the defeat you forced upon him, taking Gromell, and the failed attempt at murder where you turned the tables on the man again; and you know that he made known in advance that he would fight for Alexandra at the tournament. There you have defeated him spectacularly a second time. Take heed. Poins might like to be on your side, but he has no obligation to you and knows that nothing can come of your choosing his daughter as the tournament’s queen, while he might be obligated well enough to Mowbray. Watch closely what you say to him.”

But in the courtyard of castle Abergavenny, where the host, count Geffrey of Abergavenny, greeted the Arkonide very warmly and excitedly talked of his son’s improvements, there were other knights and nobles, while the baron of Lancaster was missing, and so was Surrey Hamon de Aubigny, lord of Mowbray. Was that good or bad?

Up to now Atlan had been able to explain his knowledge and the new things he taught to people by saying that he straightway came from the Holy Land, and had been to countries even farther where, for example, a remedy for the plague had been found or a new kind of plough and horse collar, or new designs for carts or harrows. That was in accordance with him being a landless knight from Toulouse well enough. The French had made up a large part of the host that went to crusade two years ago. The farmers, the monks and the knights had taken that at face value, seeing the advantages he brought, and had accepted him as he presented himself. Now, with the nimbus and glory of the tournament’s victor surrounding him, now that the knights had seen him fight and knew that any prowess he had talked about probably had been no boast, they were more interested in details and wanted to know more about their exotic visitor. The shape of the harp at the saddle was eyed with speculation too. 

So, he found himself at the centre of attention and unhooked the harp to general welcome and expressions of hope that he would entertain them with stories from the Holy Land, and perhaps play some music?

The so excellently fighting knight from afar seemed to have turned to a welcomed minstrel in their eyes, a change the Arkonide was glad of. He wanted to shine in Alexandra’s eyes and preferred to present himself in that guise; that he was a physician also could be left aside today. Especially since that role was connected to herbs and spices, employed effectively.

Walking up the steps at the side of Sir Geffrey Atlan came upon a landing where he was awaited by the ladies, the wife of the castle’s lord greeting him with a deep curtsey and a warm smile that made her face shine and bloom like the one of a woman much younger. 

Elegantly the Arkonide bowed back, suddenly making everyone aware that he had manners of a finesse few of them had, here in Abergavenny, while this man must know the courts of kings far away, of France and of Constantinople and of Jerusalem.

“Thank you so much, Sir Atlan, for saving our son’s and heir’s life!”

“I am glad that I could be of service. Things learned in foreign lands can be good things, used to the benefit of people.”

“And those used to the detriment of others?” a voice suddenly threw in, rasping and raw with sentiment.

The Arkonide turned to face a man whose face he knew. That was one of the murderers who had gone after him and Gromell, when they had camped outside the village. A follower of Surrey of Mowbray.

“Will be used according to need and justice”, he answered with a small bow and a cold smile. The man shrank back, his face suddenly fearful. Yes, neither of them could in good earnest accuse the other of anything, since the attack could not be proven without a confession of any of the attackers, nor could the noble who was a partisan of Surrey prove anything against his red-eyed opponent, whose action had been all to the best of the people he met, having given medicine to hundreds of people, healing them and bettering their lives-and for that there was proof enough.

Coolly Atlan turned his shoulder to the man and went on with the host and his lady. He could be sure now that he would be watched closely by Surrey’s friends, who would report back to him. But Surrey himself seemed to be absent.

Poins of Lancaster was not, to his well-concealed joy, meeting him in hall very civilly, and neither was his daughter the queen of love and beauty missing at the feast in honour of the tournament and its victor. Several knights were paying court to her, but they gave room to the best fighter among them when the Arkonide walked up to greet Alexandra of Lancaster. 

She appeared even more beautiful today, and blushed nicely when she curtseyed, but of course she could not speak out with her maid in attendance and the other knights listening. So they kept to pleasantries and civil exchanges, much too formal for the Arkonide’s taste, who would have liked to do nothing better than take her into his arms and kiss her, deeply and long, and to hell with the rest of the world.

But the rest of the world was watching, and so was her father, and so he demurely kissed her hand and bowed and told her how her beauty brightened up the day for anyone fortunate enough to set eyes upon her, and she curtsied and said that she was honoured to meet the victor of the tournament once more, and that was it.

He was granted the honour to lead her to her place at the table, and was placed at her side, to his left the host himself who honoured the saviour of his son and the victor of the tournament before all others today, together with the queen of love and beauty of the said tournament, and Atlan could at least serve her at table, displaying fine courtly manners and exchanging some more pleasantries. 

They stole glances at each other, some of them long enough, but Alexandra gave no sign else whether she had decided to go with her lover or not and did not declare herself in either way. He had been able to whisper a few words to her on the way to the table, but that had been all he had been able to do; and she had smiled at him and pressed his hand, but had not given any answer.

So that meant that there was still hope, the Arkonide thought, who saw her smile directed at her father, almost sad for a moment. She seemed to be considering and deliberating still. If the alternative was Surrey of Mowbray, he could not lose.

“It’s not about Surrey or you, it’s about her father and betraying him, making an enemy of him, and you”, the logic sector threw in sourly. “Surrey would have made her his mistress if matters went that far, and he would have had to force her. But he would not have balked at that-if matters went that far, and her father would have been powerless in the face of the son of Nigel d’Aubigny lord de Mowbray, with his own father having lost everything in England and his closest kin away in France and little interested in the affairs of a Saxon by-blow to the family, when all the other children of Roger de Poitevin were of firm French and Norman descent by Almodis de la Marche, his father’s first wife. But the question is, of course, whether Surrey would have taken enough interest in the lady of Lancaster to make the effort and go as far at all. He was planning to court her, as much is clear. But whether he would have cared to alienate her father that much and take her by force-he would get ladies enough more willing to be his mistress and bear bastard children to him, and he must know that. Surrey is not the counter-issue in this. Poins of Lancaster, who would be left alone, bereft and childless, is.”

But she would have to leave her father anyway when she married! So, why-

“Not necessarily. If her father accepted the suit of a poorer knight with less standing than he hoped for, that one might not be better than the lord of a small manor, who might welcome the thought of living with his wife in a castle he would inherit and gain with his wife’s hand, anyway. You are up against her whole life and everything she knows, and cherishes, and takes her honour from. Having given you her maidenhead is one thing. But riding with you means betraying her father and throwing away everything, her whole world, in exchange for something she does not know yet, danger and insecurity included, and powerful enemies galore. She doesn’t know of the powers you have to defend yourself and her, and if she knew-do you think she would that easily choose a man who is not mortal, and no human man, and surely no adherent to her faith and her church, to boot? How long will it be till you can tell her the true reason why you cannot offer her your hand in marriage before her god, and in a church of her faith? Even if she goes with you, that moment will come. What then will you say to her? Hopefully by then she has learned to love you too well, and has learned enough to realize that faith and church are not as absolute as she has been taught, for her to understand you and stay with you still. The matter is not as easy as you have thought-lady Alexandra has a stronger sense of honour and character than you have reckoned with. Good, on the one hand, with her having the potential to become an even better companion. Bad, on the other, because the scale might still swing away from you.”

There was no help to be had for that, for now. Alexandra would decide on her own, and that was as it was.

He still could do his best to bedazzle her further, though. He was going to fight for his happiness, she was worth that. And she was worth being respected too-for her decision as well as for her strength of character, and her sense of honour. 

But his fight was done with other weapons than sword and lance, now. When the call went up for stories and songs, he simply took Clarsah out of her satchel, and was the centre of attention once more.

Alexandra enjoyed every minute of listening to her lover, who sent her more than one hint in his songs, but never was careless enough to be too explicit, leaving their true relationship in the dark for everyone else, leaving her free to decide for herself truly. The young woman saw that, and was grateful that the strange knight from Toulouse, from the Holy Land, from God knew where else was respecting her and did not try to force her hand. In fact it made her incline to him the more; he saw more in her than just a sweet face and a belly to bear children, as many men did, and as Surrey would who had no respect for anyone. Atlan de Arkon had even seen to it that she could not conceive by him, being considerate of his lady from the first. Was that consideration not something else she would not find with anyone else in the whole of England? He could have tried to get her with child and then could have returned months later, forcing her father to accept him as his son-in-law by the law of marriage by ravishment. Then the landless knight would have had land and castle and a rank in England all of a sudden. That he would not have had many friends with an action like that was another matter; but he was brave, and an excellent fighter, and any overlord like Roger Fitzmiles, 2nd Earl of Hereford, would welcome such a man to his ranks. Her father-well, he would have had to curb his anger, and might have relented with his first grandchild laid into his arms.

Instead Atlan courted her and wooed her as sweetly as any man could and better, and proved to her that he truly cared for nothing but herself. What other man the whole world through would do that, with no prospects to himself and some offered by her? He was different indeed, and special. As he had dared to whisper to her, would she rather become an old maid with her heart thirsting for unrequited love? She would be happier to ride with him than with staying at home, and as for security, that would not be less for her with Gromell and him protecting her.

The stories he told of were hilarious, and the songs he sang with that deep sonorous voice of his took her heart, truly, and that of the other ladies as well-and so were the men impressed, she saw. The minstrel held them in his thrall, telling his tales, playing that wonderful harp of his that looked very ancient, and probably was, like the harps of the Welsh her mother had told her about when she was little.

Then again, alternating with soulful love songs, he sang songs of the hunt and of war, ballads to tell of dramatic events, and comical incidents that made the whole hall erupt in laughter. 

And ever he looked at her, catching her gaze, smiling at her, reminding her how it had been to lie in his arms, to be loved by him. Oh, Sweet Mother Mary-if that went on, he would truly turn her heart to him completely-

The day wore on, with talks and games and songs, feasting and dancing, where they held each other’s hand perfectly chastely, and could but look at each other. That there was romance between them others would see, but nothing more, and romance for a day or two never had hurt a maid or a man, her father said indulgently when Mathilda gently chided her charge. On this day, his daughter was allowed to exchange glances. The knight from Toulouse would be gone the following day. He would not begrudge them a little romance and a few dreams the young always would have.

So Alexandra had another round-dance with her lover, who could but kiss her hand, and then he was carried away by the men again who wanted to exchange tales of the hunt and of fighting, matters a woman was not invited to with the knights and nobles slowly becoming drunk. The sweet day with Atlan was ending for her, the young woman knew, and she still had not decided-not truly. What should she do? Dare the unknown, take chance, choose love but also betrayal and dishonour, or stay to duty and honour and the love of her father she knew?

And then her father’s hand took her wrist with a hard grip, and he drew her aside into a nook, sending Mathilda away. His face was grim, and Alexandra suddenly was afraid that what she would hear would have to do with Sir Atlan of Arkon, and it did, though in a manner different from what she would have thought. Walking down the steps to the courtyard on the arm of her father she felt that he held her the last time like that. The door closing behind them felt like the closing of the door to the life she had known. Fate, and God himself, had decided for her, it seemed. The only regret and sorrow she felt now was for her father, that she could not tell him, and that she could not say goodbye as she should; but he himself had sent her on her way, unknowing but as surely as if he had ordered her to go. Her path was decided upon, now, and she had to fight for it, from this moment onward. Atlan’s life was in grave danger, and it fell to her to save him. 

Walking down the steps to fetch his horse the Arkonide was hard put to deal with his disappointment. Alexandra and her father had left, and neither of them had even taken the time to say goodbye or to wish him well on his further journey. From one moment to the other Alexandra had been gone. Only by knowing that he had lost her, he found how much he already wanted and needed Alexandra of Lancaster. Love would have come in due time, he was sure of that, like it had come to him in many cases with a companion he had dared to open himself to. With Alexandra-he had been close to love already, he felt by the unexpected pain in his heart and the sudden knot in his throat. He had to swallow. Matters were as they were, and one of the things he had admired with Alexandra was the steadiness and pureness of her character, innocence mixed with honour and an exceptionally good heart, and a clear mind. She could have learned so much from him, she was different from other women, as he was different from other men-

But she had decided otherwise, as she had every right to do. Honour and the love of her father had meant more to her than adventure and chance, and a love she did not dare to trust in. Dammit. Hadn’t he proved well enough-?

But matters were as they were. He had to leave this affair behind him and go on. Night was falling, cold crept up, and the way to the north lay before him, dark and unlighted. Damn. Oh Gods, Qinshora, Arkonath Goddess of Love-that had not worked out well, and he had got his fingers singed. He was not used to being rejected, dammit. But the hurt to his pride was far smaller than the one to his emotions. He would not forget Alexandra and those happy hours under the tree in their bower, and not only because he could not do so for the sake of his photographic memory.

Falco the robot bird gave first warning. He was being ambushed, it seemed; was Poins of Lancaster part of that brood, or had he left in advance of trouble, taking his daughter with him, who then could not do anything but stay with her father?

No knowing that for sure till he had seen the baron’s face among the ambushers and had had the opportunity to ask. One thing, though, he could be sure of: Surrey Hamon d’Aubigny, lord de Mowbray, was in the lead of that bunch. Persistence could be attributed to the man, oh yes. One attempt at murder had failed, so he tried it another time. And he, fool he, was riding the horse he had bought instead of his black robot stallion Tec’Taan, who could carry him away through the air unseen. As well he had no weapon with him and no gear. Dammit, dammit, dammit. He was more hare-brained today than the gods allowed! The falcon could protect him, but only up to a point. The goth projector of the protective energy shield was in the other belt, fitting a simpler hose than the one he wore beneath his festive surcotte and the crestcoat. Oh, damn. At least he could call Arrow the robot wolf to his aid to hamper the attackers, and earlier than him arriving at the scene.

That done he waited till he heard the first signs of a struggle and the howling of the wolf, and then he gave the falcon his orders and started to ride at a hard pace. He had to break through. A single arrow could end his life if it hit the mark. 

"Atlan!"

He jerked the horse back so hard that it reared. He knew this voice. Alexandra!

She struggled out of the bushes and ran up to him, her hand grabbing for the bridle.

“My father asked me to warn you! Mowbray wants to kill you! He waits for you beyond the bushes!”

He bowed down and reached out for her, and pulled her up into the saddle, where she settled behind him, her arms around his chest. His emotions were in turmoil, but foremost stood deep joy that Alexandra of Lancaster had not abandoned him. She had left to warn him and save him, not to leave him! Perhaps that last straw to sway her decision had been the information that he was in danger. No matter now. He could ask her later-now they had a later time together. But first they had to survive and escape this ambush.

In front of them pandemonium reigned. Between the bushes horses reared, screamed, shied, and threw their riders. The wolf bit into horse’s legs and men’s arms, howled and threw another man off his horse. Good.

A man raced out of the melee, towards the Arkonide and his companion, saw him and called out. Atlan felled him with a paralysing hit from his dagger and raced on, past the man who threw up his arms and fell, crying out again.

“There he is! Get him!” someone screamed. The Arkonide recognized the voice of Surrey of Mowbray and dug in his heels. The horse ran swifter, carrying them past the ambushers. They had a good chance to escape-

Two arrows raced across the heads of the fleeing couple, hissing as they sped by. They carried death if they hit either of them.

“Falco!” Atlan cried in deep distress. He did not even have a sword or a lance, and now he had to fight for more than just his own life.

The bird changed its course abruptly, hurtling down upon the attackers and went at the first rider, who swung a war ax in his hand. As reflexes of light from the last rays of the sun were mirrored in the metal the bird dug its claws into the face of the man and ripped skin and flesh asunder. 

A howling scream sounded, changing into crying and whimpering, then the bird rose again with bloodied claws, ready to go at the next man. A spear hit the ground near to the back hooves of the running horse as the fleeing lovers escaped that hit as well. At long last, they were on even ground. The horse ran as fast as it could, faster than the pursuing men, for now. But it carried two instead of one and must tire soon.

Not yet, and the distance to the wood where Gromell awaited was shortening. 

“Hold on, my love!” the Arkonide called to her, and Alexandra’s grip around his waist tightened. The attackers had ridden apart, setting up a line and a net to catch them in. The wolf and the falcon fought them, biting and clawing at the men, ripping and throwing them out of their saddles, swerving and jumping, escaping the arrows and sword-slashes directed at them with robotic speed. Additionally, the wolf howled, and the falcon screeched, blood-curdling sounds much louder than anything such animals normally gave.  
Still the men pursued. They were too many and too well committed now to falter, and their prey, unarmed and two on one horse, was in too precarious a situation and too easy to get. As yet it was revenge burning their hearts rather than fear.

With a cold laugh, Atlan viewed the carnage going on behind them and hit the legs of a horse coming too near with the paralysator. That rider was thrown from the saddle too, but arrows raced past their heads again, and they were in mortal danger. Looking up towards the first appearing stars the Arkonide saw where they must go, towards the north, and reined around the horse. Behind him the falcon dragged another man from the saddle, carrying him upward and smashing him against the trunk of a tree. The man fell, crashing through branches and ripping off leaves, while the robot bird swerved and dived, and went for another attacker. Arrows howled through the darkening evening, missing the fleeing couple by inches as Atlan made the horse run in a zig-zag-course.

“We must get away!” he said firmly, “And we will! Do not fear-Gromell is near, and my bow with him. Those fools do not know what they have stirred against them.” They had no weapons, no protection. They had to get away indeed, and swiftly.

Alexandra held on tight and sobbed softly. “I could not have done otherwise, Atlan! I had to warn you. Now we will ride together!”

“Sometimes God decides for us!” her lover answered her with a laugh. “You cannot know how glad I am, and how much my heart is filled with joy at your decision!”

Another arrow hurtled past, almost grazing his hand.

“Proof of all this is, sometimes good can come from evil, “he panted, having steered the horse to the right again, past another two trees. They came denser, the meadows in between becoming sparser. The horse’s lungs were working hard, and it was slowing down, a little only, but noticeably. If worst came to worst, he would have to jump down and let the woman ride on to safety and make his way on foot between the trees and perhaps up them, jumping from one to the other. In the dark, this was no picnic, and he did not wear the lenses for night-sight. But Falco could carry him to safety too-

“Dammit, go swifter!” The horse’s sides heaved, but the poor animal did its best. Foam from its mouth fell upon the Arkonide’s hands gripping the reins.

Then another rider sped out between the trees in the direction they raced to. There were a hiss and a soft bang, another one and a third. The rider was waving.

Exhaling deep with relief Atlan cried “Gromell!” and waved back. Behind them a blinding white sphere of light flashed to existence, followed by a red one and one of an icy blue. At the same time, the first thunderclap of the upcoming storm sounded while the wind began to blow more strongly.

Gromell the archer raced up, stopped with his master, and threw bow and well-filled quiver to him. The Arkonide slipped out of the saddle and ran into the dark, followed by his man. The flare gun was stuck in the squire’s belt.

“Alexandra, ride on! Straightway into the woods, you will see the fire and the camp. Swiftly, get yourself to safety!”

She took the reins, resettled on the horse’s back, and rode on, disappearing between the trees. The two men hid behind the trees, covered by darkness.  
Putting on the leather for protection of his arm Atlan took aim and waited. The pursuers were out of the best range still. Another minute, or two, and that would change.

The line of pursuers came up quickly. The men’s faces, visible in the blinding light, were contorted with fear and pain and hate, most of all anger and hate. A straight Norman fighter was not deterred by witchcraft and wonders from foreign countries, might they be contrived by natural means or not, and they were not afraid of a red-eyed devil who would bleed and scream at the hangman’s hand no less than any other man, and who would burn like a torch once he was put to the stake. Surrey had promised them that this was what they would witness, along with the hanging of a worthless knave, and then they would share the strange knight’s riches between them. The rings he wore were of heavy gold and held jewels, and he had paid the workmen with gold too.

“About twenty men”, the Arkonide murmured, preparing for the fight to ensue. “Knights rather than knaves.” Where did their hate come from? That they had been bested and defeated? That a man from afar had gotten what they had been avid for? That his knowledge rankled within their hearts, seeing their own ignorance?

Gromell loosed his first arrow, and Atlan’s followed on the count. They hit a shoulder and a leg, and made two bodies fall from their horse. Another arrow. Another hit.  
The pursuers shot off a volley of their own, but their enemies were in the darkness between the trees and had good cover from the trunks, while they came on in the open, lighted up well by the flares burning on in the grass.

Breathing in Dagor cadence the Arkonide shot his arrows. Not a single one missed, hitting shoulders, piercing arms and hands, disabling horses that stumbled and fell. He was aiming for non-lethal goals, while Gromell was less lenient. His shots killed now and then. They did not have the manpower to avoid reducing their enemies, he growled, and his master had to concede that he was right. Gromell had no idea yet what the knight from the Holy Land could bring to bear. 

The wolf and the falcon went on doing harm to the attackers, and one after the other the arrows howled out of the cover between the trees. When only five men were left sitting ahorse they gave up, turned their mounts and ran, just as the first flashes of the storm shot across the sky. 

“Arrow! Falco!” The robots raced up and accepted further orders to look for the young woman and the camp and guard the horses.

“Te mekh!” the bird retorted and flew off. Atlan felt Gromell’s burning gaze upon his back. It was time they talked. The young man had even dared to make use of what he already knew of his master’s magical possessions. He carried stellar blood indeed, as much was clear.

The squire set out to collect some booty from the fallen enemies and took up the arrows that still could be used. 

The Arkonide followed his example and salvaged most of his arrows of Arkonath steel. They caught the horses of their enemies and bound the wounded men to the saddles, and sent the animals on their way with slaps against their flanks. 

Two men ran, and nine would never run or breathe again. Gromell went through every saddle bag and got a heap of provisions together, and clothes that might be of use to the young woman, boots included. She still was in her festive garb from the castle, not exactly fitting for a journey through England up to the Scottish border, and farther. The best horse they found they kept for her, and slowly walked back to their camp.

Gromell was exhilarated after that impressive victory against so many enemies.  
“This way, Sir Knight, everything is as it should be for the brave men in the woods!” he called out. “We have horses, leisure, food fit for a feast and beautiful women to bide us company-to bide you company, forgive me, Sir Knight.”

The broad grin of the young man made Atlan’s heart lift. “I hope that you will not be disturbed too much in your sleep”, he murmured back, and Gromell laughed out loud.

“I know what I am in for. The mantle took me two hours to get clean, Atlan. Perhaps I will sleep away a little, to keep guard the better…”

“Do so. There are advantages to three people doing the work traveling cross-country. She will be good for you too.”

“I do not doubt that.” Gromell was becoming serious. “She is clever and has a truly good heart. I saw her give alms to the poor after mass and saw how she did it. The lady will be a worthy companion for you-Sir Knight!”

“I have asked you before to call me Atlan, Gromell. You are my friend, not my servant. Today you did your part in saving my life.”

“As you wish.” The young man cleared his throat. “I have done so gladly, and before you ask, no, I do not fear you or your-things, and your powers. But- “

Oh, gods. Here they were going. It was time they talked, indeed.

“But there are questions you have.” 

“Yes. I-I-please, do not think I would not be overjoyed to be counted as your friend by you, Sir-Atlan. I just-do not know where I am, with you. I would know what to expect from a knight, a knight as I know him. That is not-what you are. You feel to me like-like Arthur the king and Merlin the magician rolled into one.”

The Arkonide had to stop and fight the sudden fit of laughter that threatened to shake him. Arthur and Merlin rolled into one! Gods, the young archer had no idea how well he hit the mark! 

The squire heard his master sputter and stopped too, his voice betraying a little embarrassment. “Now I have said something silly.”

“Less silly than you know, Gromell. But let us eat first and settle matters with Alexandra. Later, when she is asleep, we can talk on.”

The camp was ideal, an ancient place of worship with a druids’ altar and a shallow cave one could sit in to find protection from the rain. The fire was already burning, and the horses were ready to be mounted in case further pursuit took place. 

Alexandra was leaning against a tree-trunk and shivered badly, tightly wrapped into her mantle. Atlan saw that reaction to all that had happened had set in, and simply took her into his arms, holding her tight. She had a little weeping fit, her hands gripping his shoulders hard, and then she relaxed as he began to kiss her, gently first and more and more deeply, wordlessly caressing her. After a fight and mortal danger, instinct told a man to go the other way and hand on life, and it was no different with a woman. He had seen people coupling shamelessly right in the street and in the sight of each other upon Crete, and upon Kalliste, after an earthquake had gone past harmlessly enough and the frightened people found themselves alive, and well. They had said that there were several reasons why Poseidon Earth-Shaker was called the husband of the Earth Mother and that this urge to procreate was one of them. In that geologically so volatile region, they knew the effect, and the cause, and thought their reaction natural. Every soldier and every camp-follower of every army of this world knew it too. 

Gromell’s footsteps crunched away through the old leaves, “to go to guard and see the vicinity is safe”, as the young man said out loud, and then they just threw their mantles upon the ground, panting and gasping with the urgent need they felt, and breathlessly went on caressing each other, sinking down upon their makeshift pallet, impatiently helping each other to shed their clothes.

Their first joining was swift and started without further games drawing out the desire they felt burn their bodies so hot they moaned. Alexandra drew her lover down to her and the Arkonide took her into his arms, unable to wait or hold himself back any longer. They were less gentle this time, their pleasure mounting swiftly and almost harshly. This joining alleviated the fear they had had for each other, the shock to have been in mortal danger, and reassured them of the other’s presence and love and sound condition. They were both unharmed and now nothing stood between them anymore. Alexandra had decided to ride with Atlan, and they were together in truth now and belonged to each other.

Passion took them both almost violently and swept any reluctance or consideration away. Loudly they called each other’s name as their feelings rose, waves of pleasure drowning every other sensation out, their hearts filled with emotion as well as they gazed into each other’s eyes, seeing each other by the flickering light of the fire and the flashes of the storm, glowing red eyes into shining green ones, drowning within each other’s gaze. Their bodies moved rhythmically together, in the oldest dance of the world which is new each time, making them moan and gasp, and cry out as their feelings rose and rose, their movements becoming frantic as their oncoming climax gripped them and sent shattering waves of joy through their writhing bodies, and released them with a jolt of pleasure so strong they cried out loud together. 

Panting they sank down then, holding on to each other, and kissed and caressed each other gently and lovingly. 

“Oh my love, I have thought of you, so much, last night-“she softly said, kissing her lover back as sweetly as he did it with her. There were tears of joy in her eyes, and in his no less, and he was not ashamed for her to see them. 

“Beloved Alexandra”, he murmured back, caressing her gently. “I am so glad; you have made me so happy. Thank you, my love, that you dared to come with me. Thank you for your warning. Thank you for the great gift of your love that you give to me. “

She smiled. No other man would have thanked his love like that when she agreed to sleep with him, if he asked her at all and did not take her surrender and abandonment as a matter of course he was due as a man.

He smiled back impishly, cocking his head a little. “It seems that you remember yesterday’s lesson well, my love. Do you remember the second part too?” 

She laughed softly, her eyes kindling the more. “Yes”, she answered. “But there is no boulder for you to lean against.”

“But a convenient tree-trunk and a fold of your mantle.”

He improved conditions swiftly, and she came to him to sit down upon his lap, and with a moan, and shivering strongly, felt his strong and hard manhood slide up within her. The storm was coming up, the flashes and thunderclaps accompanying their soft gasps as they moved in unison, feeling lust and pleasure again so intensely they held on to each other almost with desperation, stammering each other’s names, kissing each other like people thirsting in the desert, finding the well at last.

Their climax raced through their bodies so forcefully that they had to cry out again, passionately, with Alexandra whimpering softly after as her lover drew out the pleasure for her by stroking her back and gently circling his hips. 

At long last they relaxed in each other’s arms, only to jump up a few minutes later, their smooching ended, when another thunderclap struck so near to their place that they were almost frightened. 

They dressed swiftly, Alexandra donning what her lover threw her, a shirt a bit too big and the leather hose and boots of the smallest knight whose belongings the victors of the skirmish had plundered, and saw to it they got under the shelter of the cave, setting up a small kettle to boil some sausages in. The rain began to fall, and with it, Gromell returned running and was received as gladly as he was coming back. 

The squire, though he smiled broadly at the pair of lovers, kept from making the jibes that a man of his kind would make among friends, and Atlan was grateful for that. He could have stood it, but his love would not feel comfortable with such banter, he feared. She was not yet used to the rough-and-ready company of men like Gromell. 

But she saw the glances exchanged between the men and blushed, and bravely said:” Had we been married today the guests and our friends would have brought us to the bedchamber, making jokes all the way. If you want to, Gromell, you may do that too.”

The young man bowed in sitting and smiled warmly. “I am afraid, my lady, that the kind of jokes men like me think of making are too simple and lack wit for the ears of a noble lady. Though I have heard that some minstrels compare a man in the heat of love to a thunderstorm, and well-you have had the opportunity to compare in truth.”

Alexandra laughed, surprised at the witty comparison, and felt better, and easier, with her lover’s squire immediately. “Not my lady, but Alexandra, Gromell, if my love is your friend whom you call by his name too. I see that with the easiness the two of you deal with each other there must be a story of long-standing friendship between you.”

The squire shook his head. “That story is a short one, Alexandra. We know each other for no longer than a few weeks, the time it took between the horse fair at Aberystwyth and the tournament here at Easter. It started with Atlan saving my life and risking himself for my sake. That hour his enmity with Surrey of Mowbray started as well.”

The young man told his tale, with not much less skill than a true minstrel, and at the end of the tale and their having eaten and drunk heavily, the young woman had grown tired and was yawning, and was gently and lovingly drawn into the arms of her lover. Her cheek lay on his chest and snuggled into his arms, warmly and softly covered and cushioned by his mantle, she fell asleep, in spite of all the terrible things happening and her leaving her father, a soft smile curving her lips.

The rain had cleared the air and high up in the sky the stars burned, the only light save the embers of the fire. Gromell looked at the loving idyll of Atlan and Alexandra with narrowed eyes, and then said, slowly and clearly:

“And now, Sir Knight from a strange land, I believe it is time that we lifted the dark plaid of secrets. I know that other countries have other ways-but only the devil can have things like you have them, like your magic animals that talk to you in an unknown language. Who, and what, are you in truth?”

“You should tell him”, the logic sector demanded. “After all, he is a descendant of the stellar guests.”

“Do you believe yourself to be clever and wise enough to learn all of it?” the Arkonide asked, looking straight into his young friend’s eyes. 

Gromell stared back, unflinching, and then took up the flare gun he had lying at his side, and threw it over to his companion, together with the spare magazine.

“Even the most experienced of the crusaders do not know such things, or ever have told of them. Neither do they know wolves whose eyes glow in the dark like the ones of your wolf do, or a lance that can weaken a man by simply pointing it at him, a lance or a dagger that will turn a man’s limbs to ice, and much more. Neither have I ever seen a falcon being able to drag a man straight up from his saddle to the height of a tree or saying Temek to his master in a tone of an officer confirming orders from his captain. Where do you come from in truth, Atlan, my friend?”

The young woman moved in her lover’s arms and whispered an endearment, smiling, dreaming of him, very clearly. Tenderly smiling the Arkonide took her firmer into his arms, leaned back comfortably and threw back his hair. 

Then he looked back at the young man who patiently waited for him to answer, and said: “It is a long tale and might sound unbelievable to you. But I will tell you the truth, the full truth. On that I give you my word.”

Gromell nodded, taking a deep breath.

“I am-a warrior, a prince of my people, who came to this world many years ago, from a world so far away that you would have to fly for thousands of years swifter than an arrow to reach it. It was by a ship I came…”

He told his story by analogies he hoped the young human could understand, how he had come to this world, how he had fought the war against the aliens to save it, how his people and their space ships had all perished and he had been left alone, exiled and banned from his home, unable to send a call across the enormous distance, forced to retreat down to the Dome beneath the sea, there to sleep till a call came and the need arose for the guardian and protector of mankind to awake and come to the aid of men.

Gromell seemed to understand, and Atlan found that it was an odd kind of relief, no, joy that filled him as he was able to tell all of his story to a human at long last who could be his friend in truth. The young Saxon archer could become a true friend to the Arkonide, it seemed.

“That’s a bit much for a mind like mine.” Gromell had become deadly serious. “That means-you are thousands of years old? As old as the Great Stones on the plain the heathen or the fairies have set up?”

Atlan laughed a little. “Older than that, Gromell, much older. Those stones were set up by the ancestors of the English-they called themselves the Suthuma, the children of the Earth. Nowadays very few of their descendants are still alive. But I remember England, this isle, as it was before it was an isle, before the Great Flood came that made enormous masses of land vanish. I remember humans who lived in caves as some of your kind still do, and who thought me to be a god. I did what I could, Gromell, to help your kind, always, and teach you, because one day I hope to build a ship like the one I had with the help of humans, and fly back to the world I came from. I even-“

But that part was not anything he wished to tell of, not yet-that speech he had had with IT, on the planet of Larsa, the second one of this system. The little space boat still was hidden upon Earth within the cave beyond rock and sand in the desert, near to the oasis which had dried up and which held nothing but sand-blown ruins now. Then, a thousand years ago, he could have flown back to the second planet of this little backwater system where a bigger base of the Arkonath still existed, manned by robots who never slept and did not die. From there he might have been able to send the call that would reach a military outpost of the Arkonath fleet and would be sent on to the Home System. Instead, after some consideration and a long talk with the all-powerful energetic being, he had chosen to stay for some more centuries and to be humankind’s protector and teacher till the little barbarians had learned on their own how to go to space, with his help, of course. When they would be mature enough culturally to survive the shock of being confronted with an advanced culture like the one of the Arkonath; when they could face an Arkonath colonial fleet and with firmness and manners stand their own, being able to keep their inner independence without succumbing to the superior culture and its power. When humans would stay humans though they would meet the Arkonath, hopefully in friendship. When Arkon, having grown old and listless during thousands of years of hegemony and peace could use the assistance of a younger and fiercer kind that could bring out all the best in the older race again.

That was a tale for a time later in their relationships as friends, the Arkonide thought. As it was, it was enough to take in for Gromell.

“That is awfully hard to understand and imagine. I believe you, but even a hundred years is hard to understand, for me, I mean, to know in my mind and my heart. But thousands of years-how many, Atlan?”

“Nine thousand one hundred and ninety-four human years, Gromell. That long ago I was born to my parents on the Crystal world; and nine thousand one hundred and forty-nine years ago I came to this world of men the last time. But remember, I did not spend all this time aboveground among men. Most of that time since I have been asleep at the bottom of the sea.”

The young man was slowly shaking his head. Trying to get something out of this he understood, and could refer to, he suddenly blurted out:” But then you must have known king Arthur, and Merlin the magician! And Lancelot, and Gweniver, and-“he stopped, overwhelmed by the thought.

The Arkonide smiled slightly. “So I did, my friend Gromell. So I did.”

“That means that you learned Merlin’s skills from him? That explains it- “

Atlan laughed. “It was the other way around, Gromell. I met Myrddin Emrys first when he was a boy and needed instruction and help with his developing talents. Some of that help and education I could give to him. He was my pupil, not I his.”

With a cough and eyes wide, the young squire tried to take this in, then he suddenly grinned. “I understand, my friend. You are immortal, you come from another world among the stars, not human though looking very much like us, you can fly and have a castle and a palace upon the bottom of the sea, you have power and knowledge like no man can imagine it, you have been the protector of our world and our people, and our teacher since time immemorial and before that, and you call me, a young archer condemned to death for poaching, your friend.”

The Arkonide stayed dead serious. “Yes, Gromell my friend. That is exactly true and the whole matter in a nutshell.”

“Jesus Christ.” The young man whispered it; his face had gone pale indeed. But then he looked up and stood, reaching out with his hand and laying it on top of Atlan’s.

“Then I am your friend in truth also, committed for life-for my life, that is. I am honoured by the trust you put in me, Atlan, my friend and prince from the Crystal World Arkon. “

He looked straight into the red eyes of his strange friend, and saw them shimmer with emotion, just as he felt turned upside down by hearing all of this.

“Though I cannot imagine what a man like me could be good for to you, compared to you and what you are.”

Despite the enormity of his confession Gromell seemed to have no trouble to believe him, the Arkonide thought with some wonder in his heart. But the world of the young man was full of tales and stories, of fairies and the other world and witches and warlocks, dragons and magicians, legends, and fairy tales. Fictions like these were stark truth to the people, and so it was not hard for Gromell to think the tale of his strange friend to be truth as well.

“Your mind is a little different from the one of most of your people”, Atlan explained. “That’s because you inherited something from your ancestors.”

“Wise words you speak, oh knight from beyond this world”, the young man intoned, trying to joke about these matters which still somewhat frightened him. “This is what one does, inheriting from one’s ancestors.”

“Your ancestors came ten or more generations of men ago from the stars too. Most of them were picked up and brought home again, but a few stayed. Their descendants wandered through the world and found a new home at the castle of Diarmuid Faighe, at the shores of loch Cruachna Calecroe. This is where the last knight I fought with came from, Tayac ter Aibhlynne. That is truth-and might the plague strike me if I lied.”

The young man was silent and stared into the fire with wide eyes. Then he looked up. “That I am to believe?” he wondered. “Me, a simple fletcher and archer, a poacher, to have ancestors who came from the stars? From far away worlds? The way you did, so very long ago that England was no island yet?”

“Yes. Please believe me. No other man would have dared and tried to use my signal gun like you did it tonight.”

Gromell frowned. “I saw how you used it when Surrey attacked us the first time. He has fled if he even was with the ambushers. Coward that he is he will not have ridden at us as the first one.”

The Arkonide smiled a little.

“Let us sleep, Gromell. The wolf and the falcon watch for us. One day you will meet your brothers who come from the stars as did your ancestor. Till then I must devise a plan how to approach them without them knowing who I am. It was my mistake that banned their ancestors to this world. They have every reason to hate me.”

“Let us sleep then. We will have the most wondrous dreams!”

The young man got up to tend the fire, while his exotic immortal friend leaned back and closed his eyes, then opened them again to look at the woman in his arms.  
Now the moon shone and brought her face out of the dark like a sculptor working in marble and silver. A narrow, well-formed face, thick braids framing it with a pattern like light wood. Brown hair with golden strands. The green eyes were closed, and the whole expression on her face gave the impression of something precious, almost helpless, something one had to protect fiercely. A straight nose and this mouth, full and yet looking so innocent, two small lines at the corners.

This very moment something happened which never had happened to Atlan before: he fell in love, helplessly and totally, and in all seriousness, through all the joy and elation and tenderness he felt towards this woman.

That had not happened like this with the sister of the pharaoh or with Pao Shih the Chinese lady, and not even with Llewella nighean Sionach. The coireann rioghnachta nan Eireann had been fiercer, more forceful, a power in herself. Alexandra might be too, but far gentler, much softer. He would have to teach her and give hypno-schooling to her. When this adventure was over and he had to return to his silent prison at the bottom of the sea, she would come with him. There were Arkonath substances that would prolong her natural life, like they had done it for Llewella. He would no more be lonely. For some time in his life to come, he would no more be lonely-

Gods, how he loved her, watching this face, holding her in his arms, feeling her breath upon his cheek. Oh, Qinshora, goddess of love and joy-

Softly Gromell said:” We wanted to sleep, Sir Knight my friend, didn’t we? She will be even more beautiful by the light of the sun.”

“You are a well of wisdom, knave my friend.” 

Soon after Gromell was snoring.


End file.
